Give Her Life
by dreamzie
Summary: Sometimes, children come through with the 'give what's needed and not wanted.' Nick and Judy meet their future mother-in-laws. Mrs. Wilde and Mrs. Hopps prove 'Mother knows best' still holds true in an evolving world.
_"A mother gives you life, a mother-in-law gives you her life."_
- _ **Amit Kalantri**_

"Hello, Mrs. Wilde," some would say her smile is too cheerful, too pleasant, too undeniably nice, and she's nervous, this much I can tell so her presence doesn't leave me uneasy. There's nothing wrong with that. If she's polite, she thinks, I cannot dislike her, and I think, well, isn't she a polite little rabbit. She cannot dislike me. But you see, it's impossible to dislike this little rabbit. She's everything my Nick has said about her.

Which is what I say next," Is the Judy Hopps you can't stop talking about?" Moms know an embarrassing line when they think it, and this isn't any different from when he and his prom date left my home fourteen years ago. A savannah cat, I believe. Nick has an odd taste in women, which isn't necessarily bad I might add. So the point is-it's my job as a mother to embarrass my son from time to time, and since he's waited as long as he has I think an embarrassing mom moment is overdue. Also, providing uncomfortable truth is a part of the job description as well, especially when the person of interest is in hearing range.

Nick is readable, or it's my maternal instincts coming into play. He's mentioned her no more than fifteen times in phone calls and visits, but those fifteen times are relevant. "She's a good cop, Mom, the best in the force," or the half-thought mention he flies at me without thinking of it at all,"Judy's coming over to study the exam," or her personal favorite-something I will never ever tell him, "Behind you, it's strange, I don't think I've ever had a personal cheerleader. But she isn't a cheerleader more as she's like a drill sergeant. Can it be interchangeable?"

His tail shoots upright as if struck by lightning. If I stare hard enough I can see sparks fly off the tips of his fur, but I don't. "Now, now is this a carrot cake?" I return my attention to her, and there's a flush touch to her cheeks. She holds the spectacular design cake in her hands, and really, it's a treat. White icing bombards it and appears to glisten in the light, and miniature carrots are circled on the cake, cutesy and bobbing as Judy offers it to me, "Don't tell me you spent all this time preparing it for me!"

Judy shakes her head with a laugh, and carefully puts it into my hands, "I wish! I was never good with cooking, only breakfast meals. A friend of mine, Gideon Grey, back home made it for him. He's really good at this kind of thing." Gideon Grey. Nick rolls his eyes and shoves his hands into his pants, and he looks to the side, pretending the cake was actually baked by Judy instead of this Gideon Grey person. I make a mental note and remove the plastic top, inhaling the carrot spiced dessert. It's absolutely lovely, and thanking her, I go the kitchen where the cake slicer is somewhere in one of those sliding drawers.

"Can I pay you $25.00 to forget everything you heard?"  
"Nope!"

It's funny. Love is a fickle mistress, and jumps from one person to the next. The cake slicer is under the sink. I don't know how it got there. Dawn dish washing detergent and a handy scrubber cleans its off, and as faucet water rushes on it, I can see my reflection mixed in early afternoon sunlight. Wiping it with a nearby paper towel, the spiced aroma tickle my nostrils, and calculating which part I want first, one with the iced carrot or one without, I decide to go without. I have had too many poor experiences with the beautifully designed icing flower, or icing baby for baby showers, or icing anything.

"Mrs. Wilde?" She stands behind me with the same bright, cheery, polite smile, and it's less nervous this time. My comment has softened it, and this is good. Just as planned, "Can I help?"

Her voice is small, sweet, calm, and it has an easy going nature that isn't demonstrated in her casual but matching outfit, "Judy, you have done enough. You've given me this beautiful cake, and now, it's my time to treat you."

Chuckling, she rubs her arm and twists her hips to the side, "Nick's sulking. It was no good staying there with a sulking Nick, so I thought I could help you." Of course he's sulking now. He can't pay her off to forget what she heard I said, and I meant for her to hear what I said. I wouldn't have said it otherwise. Speak with purpose I always say.

"I did plan to make some tea. There are some packets in the upper right cabinet, right near the wall, if you don't mind-,"

"Yes, ma'am!"

This little rabbit is talented. She climbs up on the counter, despite my warning, and manages to find the tea packets I reserve for special occasions. Nick arrived with her a whole day earlier than scheduled, and smacking him silly was my first reaction. But that would have embarrassed him even more. I have standards. She asks me is fine if she starts the tea herself. It's the least she can do for a hostess as kind as myself, and where I would have scoffed, laughed, poked fun at her, I knew she was sincere. Judy Hopps does everything sincerely it appears, and it isn't in her nature to be willfully insincere to people she likes or cares for. Not intentionally, I believe. She's a country rabbit, and my impression tells me they may not always know what they're doing until it's finished. That can be said the same for a lot of people I know too.

"It shouldn't take long for the water to heat," she turns the heat on low, and I cut the slices evenly, placing one a saucer thoughtfully and with patience, "Nick should be here. He's your host too. I'll never understand that boy."

"I think you understand him better than anyone," she says.

"Except, maybe you," I answer, and it takes me five seconds to realize what I've said. I raise my head to stare into her wide eyes, upright ears, and the way she appears to be taken aback by thoughtless but entirely accurate statement, "I don't mean that in a bad way, dear. It's true. Boys are boys, and they can't tell their mothers everything."

"Why would I be mad?" She lowers the heat and takes the kettle off the stove using one of the oven mittens I gave her, "I…you've welcome me into your home, and Nick's my best friend. The first real friend I've ever had, and I have friends just not like him."

This might take longer than I anticipated. "I see, people come and go, but friendship is a mighty curious thing." I can't take my eyes off the even cake slices. I am surprised with my ability to cut evenly spaced and sized cake slices, "People are mighty curious too, very strange. Half of the time I don't know what they're saying-maybe, because half of the people in this complex speak Spanish."

"Really?"

"Yes, my neighbors, sweet people, are bilingual, and I get so jealous sometimes!" My laughter is off beat, "But that's what makes it beautiful, so many different species live here now when it used to be a strictly fox, predator complex, and what I'm saying is that I'm glad Nick's met you." Not someone like you, not someone of your kind, but you-you specifically. Nick's a good person with a good heart. I won't lie for him. I know he's done things he isn't proud, and things he knows I wouldn't be proud of."

A mother knows what kind of children she has raised, and she knows what kind of adults they have grown into. His secrets are his to keep, and he keeps them to maintain the image he wants her to see. Krista Marian Wilde isn't blind. She grew up on the same streets, faced the same trials, had the same temptations, but her son is different, brighter and more clever than she could ever be. He feels so tenderly, she thinks, and stares into Judy's eyes to hear the lingering echo in her small kitchen.

"He'd never admit," betraying wetness frizzles my fur, and slowly, I walk to her, closing the distance, "he feels a lot for a lot of things, and is so afraid of showing it. He has been for a long time."

Judy's speechless. This confession is an unplanned feature, and she doesn't know what to do with it. She has planned for a casual visit, the surveying and judging stare of a protective mother, and it makes me want to embrace her all the more. It's what I do. She isn't resistance as my arms carefully fold around her, and I hear her heartbeat on my stomach, the quick thump-thumping of surprise and delight. "Thank you, thank you for showing Nick what he truly is inside, thank you," she melts in my heart, giving me thanks for some reason. I can't say why she's thanking me, but she is in my arms.

We last for one minute and forty-five seconds, and fearing the tea will cool before we can return to the living room, she takes hold of it with the mitten in hand. I find the rarely used tea set, and she starts to pour the kettle into each cup, careful of its remaining heat and liquid. "Now, now, don't you worry about bringing it out," I say and fuss over her paws. She's an insistent little rabbit, and she concedes only when I call, "Nicholas Piberius Wilde, get in here right here young man."

Judy covers her mouth with her paw, and Nicholas enters with a tight grimace on his face. He will not say anything until she's out of range, and I fuss her out, "You are our guest. Now, Nicholas will serve the tea you made."

"She's more stubborn than you, Carrots," he jabs his thumb in the living room's direction, "we'll be there soon." She senses an incoming conversation between mother and son, and knowing her absence will be helpful, disappears into the living room where I can hear her bottom meet the plastic covering my furniture. Nicholas leans down to the lower cabinet and retrieves a tray I purchases fifteen years ago at the flea market, and gives me a light hearted glare as he places each tea saucer in position.

"She's nice."

"Yeah, well, sometimes she's too nice."

"Is she?" I wait for him to say something. He'll give me something if I use the right bait, "Is she in some kind of trouble?"

The idea of it chills him. His eyes fall in distant places, and he looks at strangely, concerned over the possibility, and his fingers go through his fur in a rush of agitation, "What? No, no, she isn't in trouble. She's…ugh, she's a rabbit." Where I used to hear disgust and bitterness there's frustration and affection. Separate and connected, one does not go without the other, and there's more to this complaint than I know. I slide the cake saucers on the tray and stare at him, the little boy now a head taller than I am.

"Nick, she's very nice."

"She's wonderful, Mom."

"Should I say that too?"

He cocks his head to the side and gives me the same Oh you would love too look that was frequent during his rebellious, teenage period, "I have tea and cake you serve." He walks ahead with his muzzle raised high and arms pushed forward, strong, the way I taught him when he was still a kit. A little kit clinging to my skirts and following me every which way I went. He's grown up too fast, and I love it.

"A woman loves a man who knows how to serve and does it gladly." His shoulders stick right up, and his tail bristles, fluffing out in flustered excitement. He's going to say something, I can feel it, but Judy says something in the living room. His shoulders fall downwards, relaxing. He gives me one side-glance, a hilariously tested glance, and goes to meet her with the tray in his hands.

He shouldn't keep a lady waiting. He was raised better than that. By the looks of it, hopefully, I won't have to wait much longer for a grandkit. A mother's patience can stretch to indefinite lengths, and everyone has their limits.

* * *

 **a/n:** Rich Moore posts a lot of Wilde Hopps (romantic/platonic) posts on his twitter, and Nick's mother is confirmed as alive and waiting for grandkits. Nick, you really need to get on that. Your mom isn't going to live forever. Her name Krista Marian comes from Maid Marian from Disney's Robin Hood. It's the movie that inspired Zootopia, and my personal headcanon is Nick's Robin Hood's direct descendant on his mom side. I say there's going to be three chapters with Bonnie's coming next, but who knows. Motherhood is such an interesting topic!

Please, don't forget to review. I want feedback on my writing, thank you!


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